Just Batman
by fights
Summary: Someone's luck is another's misfortune. Role Reversal, a little power struggle in the sack. All in the Kingdom of Madness called Arkham Asylum. All hail Joker, may he rule the heavens. Starts out depressing, ends up cracktastic. SLASH, Batman/Joker.


**Title**: Just Batman  
**Author**: Ol' Fighty (Fights)  
**Prompt**: _Bad luck_  
**Word Count**: 3642  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Batman. I do not own Superman. I make no money, but I do make happiness.  
**Rating**: NC-17 for straight-up sex. Not super explicit though.  
**Warnings**: Starts out depressing and turns into crack. You can tell I betrayed my intent for love.  
**Summary**: _Someone's luck is another's misfortune. Role Reversal, a little power struggle in the sack. All in the Kingdom of Madness called Arkham Asylum. All hail Joker, may he rule the heavens._

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_**Just Batman**_

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His black mask held to his pale, white face, handcuffs and leg cuffs restricting movement to short shuffles. His wide eyes stared at the lights as they hurt his eyes, sharp and unforgiving. His eyelids pressed closed enough to still see. The sunlight hurt, only sound and vibrations calmed him. He doubled over and gagged, something painful brewing within his gut. He didn't want to walk another step, but the men hoisted him along so he was forced and continued to stumble. Commissioner Gordon's voice followed him, a sad sound. The angered police men kicked open the door and the smiling world blared with horrid colours. Camera's flashing lights as the snapped pictures. The burst of sound in his throbbing head. The drug hurt. Hurt so much.

He was someone who could take the jeers and the rotten cabbages.

He was someone who could take the weight and carry it.

He was the person who was the night, flew the black sky like a vampire in the night.

But still the jeers of "KILL BATMAN!" stung, repeating regardless of the sentence or intent seeking down into the Kevlar tricking to his very humanity.

He sniffed at the smell of sharp, blue air. Felt his body whirl as the Jim Gordon touched him.

"Batman," the Commissioner squeezed Batman's hand as if he were a little boy who had just lost his father. "Am I doing the right thing?"

He caught the flicker of approval but did not feel relieved.

The concern and care radiated in his touch, it was their Gotham. Always would be. "Be safe."

He pulled his hand away and Gordon's eyes met with the Policeman, a fearful look.

The officer read his expression. "He'll be going to Arkham in one piece, sir."

Gordon's reaction caused the officer to pause.

The Commissioner then nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. Hissing coffee scented breath. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Gordon slammed the door shut on a drugged and hallucinating Batman, eyes catching each other's for a split second.

The older man's fingers pulled away slowly, taking in the surreal experience with jolts and slow motions. It felt numb. Like he would go home tonight to his family, kiss his wife, hug his kids. But they were gone. Commissioner Gordon's house had been empty, save a bachelor's belongings, for a year. His kids would never return to Gotham. His ex-wife would never kiss him goodnight, already kissing another man. His children with another father.

And Batman was gone.

Gordon stood on the concrete street watching the car containing his saviour and his children's hero and his hero until it turned a corner or disappeared behind a car in the distance.

Batman was gone and his mind flitted with regret.

'Batman will do it,' he thought with a nod.

Unable and unwilling to move into a more comfortable position. The car was cramped with the officers inside already pulling on their clown masks. Rubber, skin flopping with the bumps. Faces that were red and blue around the eyes and lips. Each different, round, tall, large forehead and chin or with a long nose. Batman grit his teeth, mask still in place. Despite their constant touching, they never touched his skin. Only held the paralysed legs and arms in place. Even the Joker never received such a cold reception.

If the cops were clowns, he never would.

"You know the boss is in a good mood," the clown with the crying face looked down to the newest Arkham patient without a hint of real human emotion. Then cocked his head to his partner.

The one with the long, hooked nose seemed to grit his teeth. "That could be bad for us though. You know the boss enough to know that you can't know him."

"Everyone knows what he wants," The driver responded, "I don't know if I want to around when he gets it."

"The whole city wanted him dead, they were nice enough to send him to Arkham." The crying faced clown added,"doesn't sound right, ya know."

"I hear you."

There was a long pause.

Perhaps five minutes long. Unbearable in most standards, but the clowns seemed accustomed to the silence until the long nose clown finally brushed his gloved fingers over Batman's arm.

"Poor guy."

The rest of the ride was spend with the heavy breathing of Batman being the only sound in the car.

When the car finally stopped, the two men in the back worked together to hoist Batman onto a gurney, wrapping the black armour in white fabric before strapping the fallen hero to the movable bed. The clown guarding the door glanced down to look at the dilating eyes of Batman. He looked up at the three clowns who seemed to relax in the hospital setting, despite the screams and maddened laughter. The clown orderlies moved quickly to get the Batman moving into the building, pushing the gurney through the doors.

Batman tried to catch sight of his surroundings, people with ghastly white faces and eyes painted colours working where normal people would have.

Arkham had become more than a madhouse, it had become a circus of madness and mayhem.

"Batman," said one of the orderlies, flipping through his paper as if he were just another patient suffering some ailment of the mind that needed special care. He slid the paper back into holder at the foot of the gurney. "His Majesty says he wants him in his royal chambers in five minutes or you're all dead."

Even before he finished that sentence, the clowns were already rushing to get the "patient" to their leader, pushing over other clowns in a mad scramble, almost comedically.

Batman could almost hear his laughter.

He knew that Batman was comic to make his less than heroic appearance by his HAHHAHHheeheeOhohoHAHHAHA's that caused a collective shudder for the clown employee's inside of Arkham. They seemed to jostle in one place, like standing figurines in a shaking doll house.

No need to say that the clowns made it there in two minutes, scrambling to unlock the high security room and cart Batman into his shared room.

"He's all yours boss," said the panting clown, rubber face sucking in at the cheeks with every breath.

Their boss didn't even look up, he had probably forgotten. The two clown orderlies looked each other, glad that their boss had forgotten.

The paused and stood for more instructions, but when thirty seconds passed and none came they understood and bolted from the room.

The grey suited man sat in his black "therapist's chair," reclining back and smirking at his guest (who tried to return the glance while being drugged and secured to a gurney). A drug that was slowly wearing off. There looked to be a clown sitting in a school quality chair, a doctor with a rubber clown mask.

The room was a padded, white cell, but was decorated with expensive red leather love seat as well and a beautiful wooden table with steel legs. The room held no washroom, which made if very clear that the Joker could walk in and out as he pleased.

"Well, you know when I said that we could room together," the man nodded, wiping his chin with his hand, absentmindedly. He raised the book up to his face and followed the lines, "it was foreshadowing."

"Gah, this book gives terrible advice," the patient threw "What to Expect when you're Expecting" at a clown-guard and it fell open to reveal a book of a titillating nature. One of women, legs spread wide for different reasons. The Clown-Guard looked down, nodded in shock and resumed his post. "No, I meant for you to get me my dinner attire."

The Joker made a motion demanding action, "now go."

"Yes, sir." The Guard responded, body pulling tight with alertness.

"Sir?" The clown asked in a nasal voice.

"Your Majesty, King Joker of Castle Arkham Asylum. Crowned-Clown of Crime. Master of Transformations and Fabrications."

"Thank you Doctor Mica, you may go."

The clown doctor scurried, leaving the pair behind.

The Joker rose elegantly from the leather chair, legs moving more lithe and seductive. With a swagger of the hips, he hummed, raising a teapot to pour.

"So I pulled some strings, dropped a bomb here, wired explosives to a toilet." He pours a cup of tea an arms length away. He doesn't seem like a tea person. He seemed more like a coffee person, coffee full of grit and sediment elbows on a sticky bar at a ma or pa's dinner, index finger swivelled around a cup or a griping a paper cup, smiling to a barista. He takes the cup and sips the burning beverage, enjoying his pain. His lips withdraw, cup empty. Down in one go. He peers down into the cup, as if reading something. Eyes poking at the tea leaves before tossing the glass at a wall, where it bounced in one piece to the padded floor. "People think they've got fire figured out, no, no, no, no..."

His two hands combine to form a ball and fingers exploded straight, hands spreading as if to mock an explosion. One hand unveiling a glowing green stone. "Fire is Power."

There is no encore, riotous clapping to appease the clown's hard work. Not even a bouquet. Considering the audience was a vigilante dressed as a bat, it was often a hard act to follow. The Joker angrily shoved his charm back into his pocket. "That's Batman and Show business, for you."

"You know I like fire, you like fear..." The Joker crossed his fingers as it it meant something. Then shrugged when Batman didn't respond, "I'm just saying."

"Oh Batman, you're having a bad day, let me get your cape."

Batman's jolted, trying to struggle, sensation slowly returning. The Joker unbuckling him with his teeth, opening the cloth that wrapped him after each unbuckle, taking time to read the pain on Batman's face until he was to his feet and deflected a weak kick. "Really, Bats."

A rough, not so friendly pull, hoisted Batman into a sitting position.

"That's my big boy!" A heavy slap landed on Batman's already burdened shoulders. Thumbs immediately pressed, touched and fondled Batman's body. A mischievous glance between each thumb stroke until he figured out what he wanted and moved his attention to the restraints. "And you are a big boy, you know that?"

The swing never came, but still the Joker dodged.

Batman felt his body sobering, arms regaining some feeling despite the burning rage and anger urging him to rejoin the fight.

"Oh!" His two hand raised in surprise as if his cookies were done, the Joker swirled to see a sliver push cart that looked like it had arrived from a hotel. The clown took a deep bow and left like a butler.

"Delivery." Much less a question, much more a statement that Batman found himself wanting to re-swallow.

"First words," the Joker smiled, cocking his head to the side, "you must be hungry? Sorry, this isn't food. At least, this isn't your meal."

Batman blinked, fighting the haze. Arkham was a madhouse. Even more than a madhouse, a theatre of madness. A mad theatre where everyone was a clown and the Joker ruled as the king... Batman rescinded a little, his posture becoming slightly crooked. How many more towns had people who bore clown masks, held clown mask under their table or in a desk drawer. How far had the madness spread? Had it reached past the narrows? His hand clenched, a hope within his fist to end the madness.

The Joker reached under a table by the sofa where he once rested, pulling up the table's skirt and retrieved a box. Pulling the ribbon messily and unwrapping the expensive gift to reveal his "standard" attire. An emerald shirt, an obnoixious yellow tie. Without a care he stripped down, tossing clothes all around the the room.

His dark, grey and black appearance becoming more friendly and jovial.

The Joker turned and showcased his new appearance, with a feminine kick.

"Tada, a man into a god." The Joker stalked back to the silver tray and smiled, with a 'look bats, this is all for me, hahahhah' expression.

The Joker lifted the silver plater up, set it down and started to apply his make up that was spread like expensive condiments on a plate. He too great care with the thick, white layer, humming and ignoring the potential threat on the gurney, followed by black panda marks "carefully" applied around his green eyes.

He shot a seductive look over at the struggling Bat and winked for extra aggression. "Oh, Grrrrr! You mad aren't you sweetie? I'll be done in a second."

"What are you playing at, Poker face?"

"Old maid." The Bat managed. "You're the maid.[1]"

"I have a costume for that too, honeypot." At the moment, forgetting he was Batman, his mind wandered to that dark door that asked the question: So which clown cleaned the 'bedroom?'

Batman felt the Joker descend upon him angrily, hissing and then laughing and then growling, pulling Batman to his wobbly feet by the face.

White gloved hands wrenched the control out of Batman's head and slammed their faces together in a virgin's first kiss. Bruce felt his teeth clatter and chime in pain as the pair clang, plaque and yellow scraping off the Clown's yellows teeth, his tongue brushing the Joker's teeth (probably) for the first time that day. The concussion worthy collision set off a firework set of stars bursting with metallic stars that teachers slapped on A+ assignments and flowers that hippie girls wore in their hair and spring lambs ringing bells—So much that the Joker put their heads together again with greater force causing Bruce to fall back and concede to the Joker's force, with the green haired fool caterwauling in a humpty-dumpty way. A hearty, shrieking laugh that pitched into a shrill stabs of sound. A smile pulling on his macabre face.

"Oh Bats! We weren't meant to be!" The clown babbled, tongue lolling from his mouth as it retracted from Bruce's throat. Hazy eyes, clouded and blank. "We're so perfect. YES!"

"Bat's hit me! Maybe me a man!" Batman obliged, "YES BATS!"

His hits were sloppy, two arms held together by handcuff, still backed by anger.

Another and another. From both sides. Stumbling between short, chain-locked steps. Bursts of power from knee thrusts, then falling upon the laughing clown. They rolled like seven year olds at a slumber party.

The Joker would pull the drug-drunken Batman to his feet only for them to fall into a pile of swinging, vicious arms.

He didn't know when it happened, his control returned with the hunger and he found himself able to force the Joker underneath him.

"Just like that!" The Joker cried out huskily, like a woman in orgasm. His fingers trailed to Batman's groin, sliding his fingers up and down, searching his sexless armour. "YES! YES! Just like daddy!"

"Bat's, oh, I need you, I need you, I need youuuu." The last word hung as the Joker groaned, feeling the pressure from his own sexual desires. Batman felt his arousal rising, the Joker guiding Batman's hands done over his own groin now letting him feel the clown's own arousal. "That's how a man makes a man. Eheeheehee."

"I know I'm a little selfish, but you know, my pants are easier to take off than—"

*click*

"Oh," the Joker reached into the unveiled item, sliding his hand into the slit to release Batman's hardened penis, "geez, you think of everything. Let me get my ass ready before you tear me apart."

"Tada." The Joker retrieve a bottle of lube from his sleeve with an eyebrow wriggle, but Batman was too concentrated on removing his purple pants. Pulling off his underwear until the Joker was laughing wildly, kicking his bare legs at Batman. Which promptly stopped when Batman slid his armoured finger into the Joker's anus, pulling out once for more for more oil. When the finger hit his prostate, the Joker scratched Batman's face hard (as his back was love tap resistant). "My Auguste![2] I think you should use you dick, think with your dick."

Batman complied and promptly switched, "ooh, that's right. Serve your king well."

The Joker managed a cackle in-between lusty moans, "put that dick to work, it's time you used it when it was necessary. Especially when fight e—e—vil, ah! What was I saying. Oh do that. Yes." The Joker nodded to himself, "the king... demands, no commands..."

Somewhere Batman stiffened at the word command, pinning Batman down so he could ride on top. "Hahaha, still a control freak aren't you?"

"Hrm," Batman grunted as he came, after the Joker.

"Batman, you know (chlk)," The Joker right, elbow blackened eye snapped and writhed, feeling Batman's bare lips pressing down smearing his rouge-applied, red lips. "I had a dream where you wore nothing grey spandex and a little pair of black manties and I tore the fabric off your crotch and licked your groin because I thought it might be yummy but you know (tehhh) it wasn't really. And I was disappointed."

Batman made an noncommittal grunt, seeming detached.

Still the Joker continued to smother his partner and croon, "Oh Bats. You have given the King his Queen, will you rule here with me forever?"

Batman's mouth curled on one end, "..."

"Silence is taken as consent in the Kingdom of Jokerland," the Joker smiled as he went for another round, moaning under Batman's groping hands.

The next morning, the Joker woke up sore and alone.

He also woke up hackled to himself with Batman's handcuffs, if the Joker wasn't a magician before a king, he would have never escaped.

It was a horrible morning, stepping into the hall without subjects, he realized that a single wench had felled his entire kingdom.

So he screamed.

And no one responded.

So he went to where he knew Bat might be to ask some question before murdering his one time lover. Perhaps ask the reason why he did this (after grabbing a coffee).

Batman.

He MUST have let himself become imprisoned in order to come to HIS the Kingdom of Arkham to rescue the Princess—Who was long gone, thus causing the Joker to climb up the stars to the creepy, dirty, bat filled part of Arkham he hated because there were bats there.

"Why do you make clowns so sad?" The Joker called from the other end of the hall knowing that Batman could hear him. He barrelled down the hall, pushing past another set of swinging doors, clutching his beverage carefully. "All I want is a little smile."

When he reached Batman, the black knight was in the coldest, darkest, dampest, creepiest, bat-like part of Arkham. Standing there, daring the fallen King with his smug, folded arms.

The Joker stalked towards the Gotham Knight and took a deep gulp he took a sip of the mug of coffee in hand. Legs swinging in stride, newly sprouted leg hair standing on end, lipstick and make-up running from the sweat of last night. The pleasant cofffee aroma pinched Bruce's nostril before the Joker dashed the cup onto his chest-plate, burning his chest-plate.

Of course Batman winced, but played his role. Stood firm. Didn't bulge, feeling the Joker's rage gather.

"I'll blow us up!" The Joker bellowed.

"All your bombs were defused."

"I'll sic my men on—" The Joker hated when Batman smiled, "you knew."

"Well, I'll use my kryptonite to kill Superman."

"Oh, that green thing." Batman smirked, "I think I lost it somewhere."

"My kryptonite!!!" The bellow bounces off the halls and repeats several times. Despite losing his power, the Joker still tilted his head back, breathing the cold corridor chill in. He pulled their faces close, Batman being the unmovable asshole he was just smirked. Feeling the sound of his voice hit him several times, he relaxed a little, purring under their pets, loving the sound of his own voice. "That was MY kryptonite!"

The cruel reality sunk in.

"You used me." The Joker growled.

Batman didn't react.

"You had sex with me to steal my lucky kryptonite!" The Joker accused, fumbling for his knife as Batman folded his arms.

"It was consensual," Batman replied.

"You don't love me at all," the Joker cried dramatically to the unaffected Batman, while smashing the cup onto his chest. "You destroyed my kingdom!!"

"Well, technically I didn't," Batman stated, blocking and taking away the Joker's knife.

"He did," he further gestured to Superman.

"The other woman! I'm not willing to play Pierrot[3] in this drama." The Joker clenched his hands. "Do you love him?"

Superman arrived, like a husband bursting into the bedroom of a cheating wife. He looked at the pantless King and back at the Gotham Knight, trying to figure out what transpired that night as he was chained to the Joker's cold basement.

"No," Batman stated, still standing firm.

"Your Kingdom has fallen," Batman further stated after awkward silence as the floating Superman sank to the ground.

Superman wilted at Batman's response. "I'll... Be outside if you need me."

"I guess I'm going to Metropolis," the Joker slouched, he was going to miss Arkham's frail human-like mortality. Being under Superman's rule was going to suck without his lucky kryptonite.

"Well, as the conqueror of the Kingdom of Arkham," Batman swayed, arresting the Joker with what looked like his own, difficult bat-cuffs, "I'm free to whatever spoils that the victory affords me."

The Joker raised his eyebrows at the longest sentence he had ever heard come from Batman's mouth, they dropped once the cuffs locked, "Controlling aren't we, what name does your majesty prefer?"

"Just Batman."

[**The End**]

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Notes:  
Started out serious and ended up cracktastic. I was having a really bad week. You can tell this was going to be epic and depressing. To be fair Superman was always involved, but the ending was going to be depressing. I'm glad I made it happy. I was going to throw this round (because I want Team Anarchy to win one round), but when I'm sad I tend to write to feel better.

_Footnotes:_  
[1] However, in the children's game Old Maid, a solitary joker represents the Maid, a card that is to be avoided. [Source: Wikipedia]

[2] "The auguste character-type is often an anarchist, a joker, or a fool. He is clever and has much lower status than the whiteface." [Source: Wikipedia]  
"The Auguste clown is in a class by himself. The least intelligent (although that's not saying much of the clowns) he is also perhaps the most beloved." [Source: Clown Ministy!?]

[3] "His character is that of the sad clown, pining for love of Columbine, who inevitably breaks his heart and leaves him for Harlequin(/Arlecchino). [...] The noticeable feature of Pierrot's behaviour is his naïveté, he is seen as a fool, always the butt of pranks, yet nonetheless trusting. Pierrot is also portrayed as moonstruck, distant and oblivious to reality." [Source: Wikipedia]


End file.
